


A Simple Journey

by JehanFerres



Series: TiMER [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, TiMER (2009)
Genre: "unrequited" affection, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 09:56:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JehanFerres/pseuds/JehanFerres
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe embarking upon a road-trip with somebody he was convinced hated him and who he was honestly head-over-heels in love with was a bad idea.</p>
<p>Maybe being anywhere near Jehan when it was obviously Feuilly who his timer was counting down for was a bad idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Simple Journey

**Author's Note:**

> /rings bells happily
> 
> I'm transferring everything from my writing Tumblr over to AO3 oops and this is the first part of my (part of a) TiMER AU for Les Mis.

Maybe embarking upon a road-trip with somebody he was convinced hated him and who he was honestly head-over-heels in love with was a bad idea.

Maybe being anywhere near Jehan when it was obviously Feuilly who his timer was counting down for was a bad idea.

Maybe Combeferre should just quit while he was ahead.

They had - or rather Jehan had and then Combeferre had - fallen asleep on their journey away from Enjolras’ house back to Combeferre’s house (damn Enjolras for living in the middle of nowhere and requiring a two-hour trip) - Jehan was presently leaning back against the back of the seat, turned slightly towards the window nearest to him, and Combeferre was sat cross-legged in the driver’s seat, his head tipped back against the head-rest, which was making his neck incredibly stiff. Maybe embarking upon a road-trip with somebody he was convinced hated him and who he was honestly head-over-heels in love with was a bad idea. Maybe being anywhere near Jehan when it was obviously Feuilly who his timer was counting down for was a bad idea. Maybe Combeferre should just quit while he was ahead.

Or, maybe, something would happen.

Finally, maybe pigs would fly.

Actually, that was probably the most likely scenario; pigs would sooner evolve wings and the ability to fly than Jehan would ever like him, that was literally how unlikely this ever happening was. However, even though Combeferre knew that his little dreamer poet didn’t like him, it was still nice to pretend that, maybe, the timer in the auburn-haired boy’s wrist might be counting down for him, like Combeferre hoped that the one in his wrist was counting down for Jehan.

But God, if they were meant to be together, that would bring with it a plethora of unpleasant consequences - Combeferre’s mother and stepfather, Jehan’s father, their friends (who had all thought that they had nobody and who all thought that Combeferre and Jehan were the same - none of them know about this countdown yet; he had only seen Jehan’s in passing, without even meaning to look at it). But it would be good, to know that they were meant to be together, and that, maybe, somebody could care about him.

There was a first time for everything.

Jehan eventually jerked awake, and gave Combeferre a mildly puzzled look as he realised that he was being accidentally stared at, as Combeferre was certainly not intending to be staring at him. Combeferre blushed a little, but uncrossed his legs, and Jehan uncurled, stretching out and yawning. “Morning,” he mumbled. “‘D you sleep well?”

God, small talk was painful.

“Yeah. My shoulders are stiff, but that’s what you get from sleeping in a car, I suppose,” Combeferre replied tiredly, stretching out as best he could in the uncomfortable car without his shirt riding up, since that was literally the worst case scenario for him.

Jehan nodded. “Mh. Me too. I suppose we’re due it, though,” he said tiredly, before curling tightly into the seat. Combeferre could have sworn he saw him roll his sleeve up (the one with the timer attached to it), but, then again, he might have been seeing things.

They drove in perfect silence for about five minutes, until Combeferre finally gave in and turned the Radio on - or at least he would have done if there hadn’t been a soft beeping or buzzing noise from the other side of the car where Jehan was sat, which Jehan then tried to cover up with a squeak. The squeak didn’t help, because it just sounded like a concerned whimper.

“Jehan?” Combeferre asked gently, turning to look at the poet. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah,” Jehan replied, although his voice shook noticeably “No, not really,” he groaned, his shoulders trembling

“We’ll stop off to get something to eat soon,” Combeferre muttered. “We can talk about it then, if you want to?” he offered nervously.

Jehan shook his head. “N-no - it’s nothing,” he replied, curling into his seat. At a loss for anything to say, Combeferre reached over to gently stroke Jehan’s hair - and, for once, Jehan leaned into it. Combeferre could feel him shaking, but decided that it would be best, probably, to just leave him alone - Jehan had never much liked talking about why he was upset and this would be no exception, it appeared.

Combeferre hadn’t realised, however, that, when Jehan had squeaked, the timer on his wrist had beeped. He hadn’t realised that Jehan had squeaked because the corresponding device on his wrist had also beeped. Jehan squeaking, however, had masked both of these sounds, and he didn’t know.

He would probably have gone on not knowing if he hadn’t, pureply out of habit, glanced down at his wrist.

He would probably have gone on not knowing if he hadn’t seen the pale flash of light.

Needless to say, he practically fell off the road, and pulled off, his chest heaving, covering his mouth and nose with his hands and staring blankly into his lap. After a couple of minutes, he felt Jehan’s hand rest gently on his back.

Fuck, what if it was Jehan? What if it was some random person in a car.

“I… I should probably say,” Jehan mumbled. “I… I think mine… I think it went off about the same time as yours,” he explained, rolling his sleeve up to show him. Combeferre nodded, and did the same. “What number’s yours?” Jehan asked softly, his tone nervous. Combeferre showed him, because he didn’t think he could speak right now, even if he had wanted to. It was the number of Jehan’s, and Jehan’s was the number of Combeferre’s.

“Shit,” Combeferre muttered, after about a minute.

“Astute,” Jehan replied, in the exact same tone. He paused for a couple of seconds, and then gently took hold of Combeferre’s hand. “The thing is… I…” He groaned. “A part of me is relieved, I suppose,” he explained.

Combeferre frowned. “Why’s that?”

“Other… other than the obvious?” Jehan replied, laughing awkwardly. Combeferre nodded. “I suppose it’s because… because it made me realise how much I was hoping that it would be you,” he explained.

Combeferre nodded the slightest bit, gently pulling Jehan against his chest. “I’ve felt like this for a long time, but I honestly didn’t realise that maybe… maybe it might be like this.” He laughed, but shakily. “I’m relieved too, but I suppose I’m relieved because I just… I’ve never thought that anyone could ever like me, let alone love me.” Jehan frowned, and crawled over onto Combeferre’s lap, allowing himself to be cradled gently against the taller man’s chest, tucking his gangly limbs into the rather small space and wrapping his arms around Combeferre’s neck.

“We should…” Jehan muttered after about five minutes. “We should probably get going.”

“Yeah, I think I agree,” Combeferre muttered softly. Jehan cuddled into his arms, and Combeferre’s hands went around his waist, squeezing the poet’s waist gently. “I don’t know what the others will think,” he groaned, his head dropping forward somewhat.

“I don’t care what they think,” Jehan replied, shrugging and gently squeezing Combeferre’s hand. “If they don’t like it, it’s their own fault; nobody can dictate who you love, and they should all know that, they really should. It’s their own fault, like I said.”

Jehan was curled against Combeferre’s chest by now, but once he finished saying this, he leaned up slightly, and gently pulled Combeferre down to his level, pressing their lips softly together. Combeferre didn’t respond for a couple of seconds, but he quickly melted into it, cupping Jehan’s cheek in one hand and closing his eyes.


End file.
